25th December 2007 Happy Christmas

I visited Dad this morning. I took him in his present - it was a new electric shaver. He didn't seem to know it was Christmas, he didn't know how to unwrap his present, nor what it was for. I went and put it in his room because quite often things won't make it that far, he'll not realise there his or someone else will take a liking to them and they'll disappear. His room was unlocked, which is unusual. He had one card - from the home. I wonder where my card and the cards from Ellie and Max ended up. I wonder if no-one else sent him a card.
When I got back he was sleeping again. I woke him and stayed for a while longer. It seemed wrong to leave but it seemed pointless staying. The new lady was shouting "£20 for a bacon roll and a cup of tea - that's day light robbery. They are stealing rainbows you know - can keep all but the blue for me. Bastards eh? Smoked salmon pasties? That's outrageous! Smoked salmon? Smells like fanny and I'm no eating that fur naebudy." I kiss Dad's forehead and tell him to enjoy his Christmas dinner and the rest of his day.

We went to Sean's sisters for Christmas dinner and stayed over. His cousin and her family where there too, so the kids had a good time, I get on with his cousin, she's lovely and although I don't really know him, her husband seems great too, so that blunted the rest. Someone asked how he was, when I tell them they say "Well, at least he doesn't know where he is, that's some comfort" but I don't listen I just want them to stop talking, stop talking about him and spouting platitudes. There's nothing anyone can say that's going to make it better, that's going to help, that isn't going to make me feel worse, worse for him, worse about me, just worse.

The following evening Dad's brother called to say their sister had died on Christmas day. She lived in Australia, had dementia and had been in a home almost exactly the same length of time Dad has. I wonder how that makes my Uncle feel, with both siblings demented. Scary.

I can't decide whether to tell Dad or not.

21st December 2007 - Full Moon

It is getting near full moon time. I can't think why the phases of the moon should affect the demented. But they do. I can't imagine what kind of science is to blame, what kind of magnetic force or gravitational pull - but something goes on. Bertha, Lilly, Tommy, new lady that looks like YoungMrGrace - they all were louping. Shouting, cursing, screaming at each other, railing at life, climbing the walls. I could hear them before I got there - I could hear them from the moment I left the car in the car park. I hope I never hear a worse noise.

17th December 2007 - I could have danced all night

It was the Christmas party today. The entertainer was an accordionist and he was really good. Not just at his instrument but in the mix he played. He played carols, Christmas tunes, Scottish ballads and Scottish country dance songs. Everyone laughed and clapped, and 'heuched' along.

Lily started the dancing. At the first skirl of the accordion - or whatever the hell noise they make is called - she was off. Dancing with her zimmer with an incredibly alarming ferocity and determination. Everyone clapped along with her. Cecily's son got up and danced with her. Through various tunes the staff got all the residents that were able up to dance. Dad refused. I've never known my Dad to dance. Cecily's son danced with the staff too, he was a really good country dancer.

One of the staff was working her way around the walls to administer each residents medication. She gave Dad his inhalers but when she tried to give him his painkillers she dropped one on the floor. I'd have picked it up and kept going, but she went to get another. I wonder if she'd have done that if I hadn't been there. Dad must have realised there was something missing because he got to his feet to go after her. I tried to persuade him to stay with us but he was off, so I followed him, grabbing to hold his arm. As I did this, the accordionist started a waltz. Dad started to dance with me. We were waltzing. He could dance really well. His feet took over and knew what to do. The medicine woman stopped us and popped a cocodamol in his mouth. Dad had forgotten about medicine and didn't know what he was supposed to do with it so started to crunch and chew. Even when she held the diluting juice to his mouth he didn't get the idea he was supposed to swallow it down rather than chew the pieces. She gave up and went on with her rounds. I asked Dad if he wanted to keep dancing "I don't dance" he said. What a shame. I wanted to dance with him more. I've never danced with my Dad before. Don't suppose I ever will again. Dad's feet knew how to dance - who knew? I wonder if he used to dance when he was young. I wonder if he had fewer inhibitions when he was a young man, than he had when he was the repressed, cowed, middle aged one I knew as I grew up. I hope so.

30th November 2007 - Joking apart

One of the housekeeping staff - Allie - is very chatty, very inappropriate, very disrespectful - but she gets away with it. It's obvious she cares, that she likes the residents and that she has a good heart. She's also very lazy and would much rather sit and chat than hoover - but I'm with her on that one. I'd rather she chatted with residents than vacuumed around their feet. She knows everyone, she jokes irreverantly with everyone and I like her. One of these days, though, she's going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and her ass will be hung out to dry. Today wasn't that day though.

"I think I'm as mad as they are sometimes. Really I do. I'd forget ma heid if it wisnae tied oan. Eh Bruce? Wit am I like? I think I'm gittin' that dementia off of you lot".

Bruce laughed and said "I thought I had that once. I went to the doctors and told him but he tellt me I should jist go away and forget aboot it".

21st November 2007 Harbinger of Doom

Moira visited Dad yesterday, so I went in today. I took Ellie with me because Sean had taken Mark and a couple of his friends to the cinema and on for a meal - it had been Mark's 11th birthday and this was his treat. Dad knew Moira had been to see him but said she kept falling asleep during her visit and had nothing much to say for herself - didn't seem very likely but you never know. He looked very tired, very dishevelled. He said he was 'hanging on by a stem' when I asked how he was. He fell asleep not long after we joined him, so Ellie drew and I looked round the room. There were three new faces amongst the residents. A relatively young looking man - probably 50's I'd guess - who stares at his feet while walking and shuffles, talking nonsense. If you saw a photo of him you'd think there was nothing wrong with him. A man who appears to be in his late 60's, but is very together. He has a fine head of hair - one of those wavy 1950's do's that he's never changed and even though there's grey in it, it's still dark. I like him, he has a lovely, kindly face and he looks like he's laughed a lot.

And then there's the third new resident, who was sleeping beside Cecily. A very dapper figure, well trimmed hair, gold rimmed specs, thick brown cords and co-ordinating jumper. But below the cords, thick fluffy stripy socks and pink slippers. The sleeping figure must be a woman. I checked again the sleeping face - and still wasn't sure.

But then the sleeping figure woke. The voice was definitely a female one. It was deep but still feminine. And very alarming. "Aaarrghhh. Aaaaarrrggghhhh. Aaaaarrrrrghhhhh! I can hear the voice of God. He's telling me to come to him and bring everyone I can. I can speak to God. You do believe don't you? You do believe me don't you?" she implored of everyone around her. The only response she got was from Cecily beside her who took up her usual tack "You're in a nursing home. You're going to die. Soon. Unmourned." New lady howled at this. Howled and howled. "No. You're wrong. You're wicked. I'll tell God" and howled and howled.

Dad's voice tore me back to him. He was sitting with his hands in his pockets. For the last few minutes he'd been slipping down his seat and was now very close to the edge "I'm about to land on the floor if you don't do something about it" he snarled at me. I leapt up and got behind his chair - he was tucked into the table so I couldn't get to the front of him. I hauled and hauled at his underarms to get him back up - a task that would have been eased considerably had he taken his hands out of his pockets. In fact had he taken his hands out of his pockets he'd have been able to stop himself sliding down out of the chair. Once I got him back upright I sat back down, and he took his hands out of his pockets. He fell asleep again, woke for tea and cake, then dropped off again. I kissed him and told him I'd visited during the week if I could. I probably won't. I do try to, but after working all day and then picking up the kids, cooking for them, then Sean, I just can face it. I should go at lunch time, and I think I'll have to but up until now I've been trying to avoid meal times - and even more trying to avoid thinking of it as feeding times. But I do. I had the cheek the other day to correct someone when they called residents "inmates". They are inmates though, it is a prison. And many of them do get fed. But it's still not right, they deserve to be given more respect, to be dealt with to respect their dignity - and I do try and remember, try not to be callous.

As I left I heard Lily shouting at the new lady "If ye can talk tae God gonnae ask him where the fuck I've left ma top set 'cos I cannae find the fuckers onywhere." and as I turn she said to me "Mind ma french though, luv, sorry infront of the bairn, I'm fuckin' terrible so I am". When I look at her, smile and tell her not to worry, I see her "top set" quite clearly in her left hand, but I didn't think it right to point it out.

11th November 2007 - Back to work II

He was much as I expected. He was pleased, but very surprised to see me. He couldn't remember if Colin had been in to see him. He thought I was dead.

We sat in the day room. The floor was littered with dodds of food. Angus was on - he'd a lovely guy - he's very helpful, very friendly, very caring and very black. Ever seen Blazing Saddles - "The Sheriff's a ni" - well Dad often has a problem with Angus. He has - in the past - called him a negro in hushed terms and even once mouthed "nigger" at me as he passed. Angus must be used to it, must have incredibly thick skin and saintly patience as today Bertha was screaming at him "Leave me alane, ye black basturt that ye are. I'll git a constable, ye see if a dinnae, noo fuck awa aff ta the jungle". He was trying to move her through to the toilet. He continued despite the abuse and kept up his cheery "Now you don't mean that Bertha, I know you like me really".

Dad started talking - or he could have been talking already and I didn't notice - but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I might have stood a chance of understanding, even above the hoovering, screaming and extractor fans but for the fact that it was gibberish. If there had been some thread of sense to follow I could have done it but the words I managed to get made so little sense it evaded me. "Fankle, he was grown. Not up, you understand, but she had seven or eight. Grantedly she hives pink but muddle." He finished his chat with "But, then, you never was very good at picking up new things". Ho hum.

I'll try and see him during the week. I can't face him not having any visitors for a week. It must be so bleak. Even if he doesn't remember I've been, surely some comfort must be drawn from seeing a face he knows.

11th November 2007 Back to work

I went back to work on Monday. I've been a housewife for almost 4 years. I am a shite housewife. My house is always a mess. My ironing is always piled high, my washing similar. Even the garden is a wilderness. It looks like one of those places left wild to try and attract butterflies. But it's not, it's just a midden.

So I've given up trying to be a housewife. The kids - who I'd fondly thought rather enjoyed having a stay at home Mum - are perfectly happy. Ellie has taken to full time nursery without a backward glance. She is now comparing me with her childminder on basic mummy skills and I'm coming up short."When Elsa's mummy brushes my hair it doesn't hurt", "Elsa's mummy's carrots are crunchier than yours", "Clean hands are happy hands, that's what Elsa's Mummy says". Does she. Does she indeed.

Mark is at after school club and loathe to leave it went I pitch up to get him. "Maybe you could do the shopping before you come and get me so I can stay a bit longer?" he suggested.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they are happy. I'm glad they are well adjusted and secure enough to be able to mix well. That is exactly what I wanted for them, exactly what I tried to instill in them. So, maybe I wasn't such a bad housewife.

And then there's Dad. I feel terrible for not seeing him too. I've not been to see him for a week. I'm going to go this afternoon. I'm dreading it. What state is he going to be in? Will he think I am dead, like he did when I was on holiday? Poor soul.